


Of Texas, Terrors, and Traditions

by SabbyStarlight



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Early days of the bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashback, Fluff, Gen, Mac's fear of heights, ranch fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25518871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyStarlight/pseuds/SabbyStarlight
Summary: An origin story of Jack finding out about Mac's fear of heights that somehow turned itself into my first attempt at a ranch fic.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95





	Of Texas, Terrors, and Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been my procrastination project for months. Every time I would get stuck on a fic I was writing, I would chip away a few sentences on this one and it slowly came together. I wasn't going to post it yet, it's barely been edited, but some beautiful friends on Tumblr informed me that today is National Cowboy Day. And what better way to celebrate that than by posting this fluffy beast of a fic about our boys and their first visit to Texas together? So here it is! Hope you enjoy!

It's pretty cruel, Mac thinks, that almost an entire day of their four-day leave has to be spent traveling, hopping from one airport and timezone to another, rental car service workers and flight attendants who offer warm smiles and thank them for their service when all they want to do is to be on their way. To rest, at least for a little while, before they have to do it all again in reverse and head back to the desert.

It's dark when they finally make it to the ranch. Jack has the windows rolled down, the night air, still warm with a humid heat instead the dry brittle air Mac had grown used to, blowing in around them. There's a classic country station quietly twanging away on the radio, but it's nearly drowned out by the chirps of cicadas as the highway turns into a two-lane, and then another. A turn onto a road Mac would have missed if he had been the one behind the wheel and the tires hit gravel and Jack sighed. Home.

Mac still couldn't quite believe he had wanted to drag him along.

When it came up, that Mac had turned down the offer to use his home visit, Jack had been appalled. Mac had stared out the window of the humvee, unable to meet Jack's eyes as he explained that he didn't really have a family to go home to. His overwatch had barely given him time to finish getting the words out before insisting he came to Texas with him and no amount of stubborn arguments from Mac, not for lack of trying on his part, would allow him to turn down the offer.

Which was how Mac found himself sitting in the driveway of the Dalton family farmhouse, yellow light filtering through lace curtains hanging in all the windows and the porch light that had been left on, welcoming them home, as night fell over the ranch.

That was the last moment of calm, the rest of the evening was a chaotic blur. Hurried introductions where Mac quickly learned that hugs were the only greetings allowed, no matter how many times he offered out a hand to shake. "You're here, that means you're family, and this family hugs, son." Dinner had been kept warm on the stove, in cast iron skillets, heavier than they looked and Mac was left impressed with the ease of which Jack's mom lifted them as she served up heaping portions. They took their plates to the front porch and Mac settled in beside Jack on the porch swing, that he hadn't known people actually still had outside of in the movies, to eat and listen as Jack and his family caught up, swapping stories and small-town gossip, while the swarm of nieces and nephews Mac didn't know how he would ever remember all the names of chased fireflies around the yard.

It was chaotic and loud and Mac should have felt entirely out of place in the midst of the family surrounding him, but surprisingly he didn't. He would have been content to sit there all night, with Jack's arm slung across the back of the porch swing and a glass of sweet tea leaving a condensation ring on his knee, but Jack noticed how tired he was before he even realized it himself. "What'dya say, kid, you ready to call it a night?"

"Oh, um," Mac glanced around, suddenly more uncomfortable than he had been before once the attention had been turned to him. "I'm fine, we can stay and talk."

"You haven't said a word for the past half hour," Jack grinned. "Bout had me convinced you were already passed out here on the swing. C'mon," Jack stood, leaving Mac's boots scrambling for purchase against the worn boards that made up the porch as the swing started swaying faster from the sudden loss of weight. "I bet mama's already got a room all fixed up for you."

"Next door to yours," She confirmed with a smile so similar to Jack's that it was a little scary.

"You didn't have to go through all the trouble..." Mac protested but she waved him off with a laugh.

"I've been waiting years for Jack to bring home a kid of his own to put in that room. Trouble's hardly the word for it."

"Mama," Jack scolded, and it was hard to tell in the dim porch light, but Mac swore Jack's cheeks were turning red. "On that awkward note," Jack held out a hand and pulled Mac to standing. "Let's go get some shut-eye. In actual beds, not Army cots for a change."

Mac must have been more tired than he had even realized. Showered and changed, he barely had a chance to register the sound of the familiar snores coming, muffled, through the wall that separated Jack's and what he couldn't help but already think of as his room, as he crawled under the heavy quilt. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke to early-morning light streaming through the curtains, unable to remember the last time he had slept so soundly.

It was only a few short hours later when Jack clapped Mac on the shoulder after standing up from the table, on his way to take his empty plate to the kitchen after he had devoured most of the veritable feast of a homecooked breakfast Jack's mother had waiting on them when they woke up, and said it was time to give Mac the grand tour of the ranch. Mac had assumed he meant exploring on horseback and hid a grin. From all the teasing about Mac's California roots, he knew Jack wasn't expecting him to know anything about horses, let alone be comfortable on them. And while Jack knew about Harry's fishing cabin, they had already begun making plans to spend a few days there the next time they were given a longer leave, Mac hadn't told him about the little stable a few miles from it where he and his grandfather would stop in every time they made the trek out to the cabin, spending an afternoon exploring the miles of trails surrounding the property that were perfect for riding. He'd been keeping that secret tucked close to the vest, waiting for the opportune moment to reveal it to Jack, hoping for that easy, surprised smile to spread across his face in wonder. Mac wasn't quite ready yet though, to explore the inner workings of why he was already so resolved to prove himself to the older man, determined to show that he was worth the effort it took to stay by his side.

They made it to the front door and Jack handed him a pair of boots, light brown with no decoration other than the round pull-holes at the top. "Here, I think these'll fit ya."

"Thanks," Mac looked up from the warm leather with an apparent question in his eyes because Jack quickly brushed him off.

"Don't go thinkin' too much into it. Didn't figure you had a pair and these have been sititin' in that old closet of mine gatherin' dust for years now. No point in lettin' 'em go to waste."

Mac ducked his head to hide a smile, knowing better than to point out the unscuffed bottom soles and the way the leather creased for the first time as he slid it over his socked feet. They hadn't been sitting in Jack's childhood closet for very long, that much was obvious, and they were two sizes too small to fit Jack anyway, but Mac decided against mentioning that as he began the arduous process of tucking his jeans into the boots.

"Seriously, dude?" Jack sighed, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, anxious to get out the door and begin exploring all the places he had missed since leaving home. "Just pull your pants legs down over 'em and let's go!"

"Your's aren't," Mac frowned, looking over at Jack's boots, shiny and black with crisscrossing straps and shiny buckles across the vamp of each one, jeans tucked perfectly into them.

"Course not," Jack kicked out a foot proudly. "Look at how nice these bad boys are. You can't hide a masterpiece like this, Mac. You gotta show it off. Ropers like those you got on? Those are all about practicality, just like you are. You know you don’t got the style I do. Now get 'em on, I've got a ranch to show off!"

“Ropers?” Mac asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup,” Jack opened the door, waiting for Mac to finish pulling his boots on and scramble out behind him. “Cowboy boots, technically, have to be at least twelve inches tall. Those are ten, making them ropers. Now let’s go! ”

Mac trailed a few steps behind Jack as they crossed the property, unable to keep the smile off his face at Jack's easy nature. It was a side of the older man he'd never seen before, who always on edge, protective and under too much stress to even consider letting his guard down. Now, he was relaxed, sauntering across the ranch grounds as if he had followed that exact path a million times before. Though he probably had, Mac realized. He himself had never experienced family roots that ran as deep as the Dalton's obviously did. He could feel the history in the land they were crossing. There was a bail of hay sitting in a wheelbarrow parked just outside the barn, breakfast waiting to be delivered. Jack grinned, jogging over to it and plucking a strand of hay out of the compact cube before returning to Mac with it held between his teeth.

“Seriously?” Mac’s face was torn between a grimace and a laugh. “Why? I thought that was something that only happened in old westerns and cartoons?”

“Nope. And why not?” Jack shrugged, falling back into step with his partner. “Keep an eye out, bet I’m not the only one you’ll see doin’ it.”

“How are you talking so normally?”

“Years of experience, hoss. Want me to go grab you one too?”

“Umm, no,” Mac shook his head. “Think I’ll pass on the germs, thanks.”

“Suit yourself."

Mac was so caught up in trying to come up with a legitimate reason for the tradition that he almost missed the fact that Jack had led him past the barn. "I thought we were going on the grand tour?"

"We are," Jack assured, nodding a greeting to one of the ranch hands as they walked past. "But we got miles and miles to explore. Can't see it all in one day even on horseback, we'll save the trail ridin' for later this evening. Or get up early tomorrow, head out to the ridge to watch the sun come up if you want. Best view in all of Texas."

"Sure," Mac agreed, trying to hide his disappointment at the fact that Jack seemed to already know he could ride. It shouldn't have surprised him though, not really. Jack had made it his own personal mission to get to know the ins and outs of Mac's life. "But if we can't see it all on horses I don't know how you expect us to cover it all on foot." There was something he wasn't understanding, a piece to the puzzle that would make it all make sense. His boots might have been pretty, and Jack was absolutely the type of person who would suffer a little in the name of style, but even he wouldn't set out on a hike of any distance in those, even if it was technically just in his own back yard.

"Now who said anything about walkin'?" Jack shot him a grin that Mac had learned, over the course of their tentatively-formed friendship, meant that he had a secret of his own. Mac followed him, curiosity growing with every step, past various buildings. A chicken house and tool shed, and Jack's excitement grew with each one they passed. They were running out of options, Mac noticed, as they rounded the grain silo, leaving only one low, flat-roofed tin building, faded from the blazing Texas sun, left to be their destination. It only had one wall along the back, leaving the entire front and both sides open and Mac's eyes lit up at the various pieces of discarded farm equipment there.

Trucks, Farm Use scrawled across the sides in spray paint, that clearly hadn't been touched in years. Hay balers and plows and attachable tractor parts, some shiny and new, used so recently there wasn't even a layer of Texas dust across the surface of them, others old enough that they were nothing but rust, along with what appeared to be every tractor that had been on the Dalton ranch since it began. It was a scrapyard of sheer potential in Mac's eyes. "I know you always joke about me building us a pair of jetpacks," Mac began, sending a confused look to Jack who was surveying the scene proudly. "And if I was gonna do it, there's actually a pretty good base to start with here from some of this stuff but... even if I could I don't think it can happen before we have to ship out."

"As much as I appreciate the offer," Jack laughed "That ain't what we're doin' here. We're goin' to see the place in style." He walked towards the corner of the building, boots kicking up clouds of dust with every step, and stopped at a huge lump covered in the largest tarp Mac had ever seen. His mind scrambled to identify the shape as Jack grabbed hold of one of the corners and shook the worst of the dust back onto the ground where it belonged and his stomach lurched in anticipatory nervousness as he realized what was about to happen.

"That's... a plane," Mac swallowed hard, mouth suddenly as dry as if every grain of the dust Jack had sent flying as he yanked the tarp away revealing the small single-engine plane had landed directly on his tongue.

"Yup," Jack grinned proudly, raising his voice to be heard over the crinkling as he rolled the tarp into a ball in his arms, getting it out of the way. "Ain't she gorgeous? She was my pop's. You knew he was Air Force, right? I told you that?"

Mac nodded, barely processing the words over the whirling drone echoing in his ears.

"He brought her home after he retired," Jack continued as he made his way around the plane, hand trailing along the stripe of red paint, surprisingly not as faded as one would have expected after years in the Texas sun, ducking under the wings as he went. "Said he missed bein' in the sky and this was the closest he could get while home. Taught me the ins and outs of flyin' her before I was even allowed on the roads. Well, legally. You don't need a license to drive the farm trucks."

He didn't remember that particular rule from getting his own permit, but Mac wasn't going to argue the logistics of it. "And it still... runs?"

"Like a dream," Jack assured, opening the pilot side door with a creak. "I haven't found a bird I can't fly yet, and this one's nothin' fancy, but damn if it ain't fun. There are memories in these wings. History. And I wasn't kidding, there really is no better way to see the whole place than from way up there. C'mon! Climb in, there's a co-pilot seat with your name on it!"

"I... I don't really-"

"I'm messin' with you, kid," Jack climbed onto the step leading into the plane, grinning at Mac as he looked down the blunt nose of the aircraft and for a brief second Mac could breathe, thinking that it all had been a ruse and he wasn't actually expected to get off the ground. His hopes were squandered though, as Jack continued. "There's some things in this world I don't expect even you to know. You're just along for the ride, I'll do all the work. Get on in here, daylight's wasting!"

Moving on autopilot, an ironic joke that Mac's mind offered up even through the panic, he wasn't in control as his feet, boots suddenly cumbersome and slow, marched, following orders, across the ground. If anything, the heat was even more stifling once he was in the shade beneath the shed, the air there stale and stagnate, blocked of any reprieving wind. Mac tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to dry the trail of nervous sweat creeping its way down the back of his neck.

Jack climbed into his seat, practically bouncing with excitement as he leaned across the small space and unlatched Mac's door, pushing it open for him. The leather of the seats was warm and cracked, peeling corners poking into Mac's back through the fabric of his shirt and he locked his eyes on the dash full of various dials in front of him, barely even registering Jack handing him a pair of noise-canceling headphones. "Put those on," He called, following his own instructions. "She's a little loud!"

Jack waited until he made sure Mac's ears were covered before turning his attention to the dials and levers in front of them, pulling and adjusting things with ease, and far sooner than Mac had hoped, the plane rumbled to life with a roar. "Whoo!" Jack crowed, excitedly slamming his hands against the yolk. "What'd I tell ya? She's never let me down before, wasn't gonna start the first time I get you out here, that's for sure." Smoother than Mac would have expected, the plane started rolling, out into the bright Texas sun, pointing towards the open field that would give them plenty of room to take off.

"You ready?" Jack's eyes flicked to him for only a moment, not even long enough to see the hesitant pause before making himself nod as Jack turned his attention back to the gages in front of him, adjusting some of the knobs as they gained speed. "Here we go!"

Mac was fairly certain he left his stomach behind as the wheels took off from the ground and they were completely airborne. He twisted his hands into the loose denim at his knees, desperate to latch onto something solid but too afraid to touch any part of the dash in front of him or the door to his right. He hadn't even realized that his eyes had slammed closed until they popped open at Jack's whoop of excitement, assuming the worst before seeing the wide smile on his overwatch's face and remembering that he was enjoying himself, unlike Mac who couldn't remember the last time he had been so afraid.

They were in the air.

The wide span of the windshield in front of him and the windows on either side of him left him unable to ignore that fact and as much as he wanted to, Mac found that he was suddenly unable to reclose his eyes. The Dalton ranch spread out beneath them, a picturesque view Mac would have been in awe of had it been in a photograph he could explore with his feet planted back on the ground, a patchwork of fields, stitched together by miles and miles of fencing.

"Hell of a view, ain't it?" Jack yelled to be heard over the roar of the motor. "House is over there," Mac had no choice but to follow the line of Jack's pointing hand, eyes locking in on the miniature farmhouse he had been inside less than an hour earlier. It felt like so much longer though, since he had been safe. Against his will, his mind started filling in the blanks, giving names to the other buildings he and Jack had just walked past. The low sloping roof of the chicken coop with the wired lot surrounding it and the long stretch of the barn, tin glinting in the light. The rounded curve of the grain silo directly below it forming a toppled exclamation point from Mac’s viewpoint.

“You see that little grove of trees?” Jack’s outreached arm shifted, pointing east. “Best swimming hole in all of Texas right there.” Mac found himself nodding, brain processing and filing away information even through his panic, trailing what he had first thought was a curved and crooked road or maybe a trail, carved into the land, was actually a creek, culminating into what, he was sure, Jack thought was a private little piece of paradise nobody but him knew about.

“That there,” Jack called pointing out his own window, “Is the road we came in on. Can’t see the main one from here, not ‘less we get closer to the property line.”

“Mm-hmm,” Mac agreed without bothering to turn his head to explore for himself, afraid to move any more than absolutely necessary. He already felt as if his breath was too harsh, coming and going fast enough that it might send the plane rocking off course and out of control. His hands tightened into fists against his thighs, nails carving grooves into his palms that he couldn’t feel.

Jack continued his tour, pointing out landmarks as they went. Which blocks of pasture were for cattle and which ones his momma had convinced his dad to leave untouched, save for a sturdy fence line surrounding them, serving as a sanctuary for a herd of wild horses that developers had pushed out of their natural home. The hayfield where he and his cousin Nick had managed to flip a tractor over the first year they were both old enough to help with the harvest and the oil rigs that had begun the entire enterprise generations ago.

He was so caught up in telling the stories, of finally being able to share those pieces of his life, of his heart, with the kid that he really had started to think of as his own, even if he wasn't ever going to say those words out loud, that Jack didn't notice Mac's fear. It was hard to hear over the whirl of the motors, so loud he could barely hear himself, which was his reasoning for why Mac wasn't doing his part of holding up his end of the conversation. The affirmative vocalizations though, slowly had faded and Jack turned his eyes and his complete attention to the young man beside him, watching for a nod and a familiar curious smile. He was fully prepared to be bombarded with questions once the grand tour was completed, just knowing that Mac was forming a list a mile long in his head of things he needed more information on.

What he wasn't expecting though, was for Mac to be paler than he had ever seen, trembling hands clenched into fists, clearly terrified instead of enjoying the picturesque view around him. "Mac?" He called, confused. His father's voice echoed in his head reminding him to keep his gaze focused on where he wanted to go, but he couldn't help but break that rule, eyes flitting back and forth from the horizon and the seat beside him. "You good? What's goin' on, hoss? Talk to me."

Mac couldn't find his words. Shaking his head back and forth was a feat in of itself that he was shocked he managed to accomplish.

It did nothing to ease Jack's own building anxiety though. "Mac, buddy, I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"High," Mac finally managed to grate out in a broken whisper. If Jack hadn't been trained to read lips over the years he wouldn't have stood a chance at understanding what he was saying. "Too high."

Jack was confused. Clearly, he had failed in his job of keeping Mac safe, he just couldn't figure out where he had gone wrong. The kid had been on planes before, that was how they had arrived in Texas, after all, trading in one hot climate for another. Though he guessed, to someone who hadn't grown up fascinated by all things flying, who hadn't watched their hero escape his troubles by chasing them through the sky, there would be a huge difference between a commercial flight and the ancient little puddle jumper they were currently in. "Damn it, kid," Jack growled, scrambling for a moment while he tried to decide the best course of action, wondering if it would be more helpful to offer what comfort he could, try to stave off the worst of what could very easily be spiraling into a full-blown panic attack, or push Mac's discomfort out of his own mind and focus on getting them safely back on solid ground.

"Okay, Mac. Need you to listen to me, okay?" He hoped his voice wouldn't add to the fear, knowing that sometimes Mac's mind associated yelling with whatever childhood traumas he had endured and it ended up doing more harm than good. "You're safe. You're right here with me and I ain't gonna let anything happen to you, alright? Just hang on, I'm gonna get us down."

Jack hoped Mac could hear him, that what he was saying actually registered in his mind, but he wasn't going to spend any more time than he had to making sure, shifting all his attention on turning the plane around and getting them back to where they had started. He was tempted to put wheels down in the nearest open field but he was miles away from the house and he knew Mac wouldn't feel like hiking back. So he pointed them in the direction they had come, ignoring any of the stories that jumped into his mind as he noticed things he hadn't pointed out the first time around, focused solely on getting Mac back on the ground.

"We're almost there, buddy," Jack promised, hoping Mac wouldn't call him out on what was nearly an outright lie, taking a hand off the yoke to drop it onto Mac's knee in an attempt to ground him since the actual ground couldn't do it quite yet. "Just hang in there, Jack's gotcha." As it usually did, his mouth kept going without him even really trying, rambling words that usually spilled out for Mac's benefit this time were for himself. Talking without realizing he was doing it, he kept up a steady stream of reassurances as he guided the plane back to the shed where he was kicking himself for ever taking it from to begin with. He had assumed that Mac couldn't hear anything he was saying, he hadn't been trying to speak over the roar of the motor, but some of it must have gotten through the panic rushing in Mac's ears, or maybe it had already become such a habit for both of them that he could sense it was happening without actually having to hear it, because he pried the hand closest to Jack out of the tense fist it was clenched in and wrapped it around Jack's hand, clutching tightly to it like a lifeline in a storm.

Landing one-handed was never an easy feat. When his dad had first begun teaching him to fly, back when he wasn't allowed to do more than sit in the seat next to his father and watch, taking in every practiced movement and committing it to memory, he remembered wondering why he always kept both hands on the yoke. His father, after all, had very rarely driven with both hands, be it a farm truck or one of his prized cars, he always had one hand fiddling with the radio dial, searching for the perfect driving song or one hanging out the window. Once he was allowed in the pilot’s seat though, he quickly realized that it wasn't nearly as easy to fly a plane, particularly landing one, with a single hand. That didn't mean he hadn't done it, Jack Dalton was never one to back down from a challenge, but it wasn't ever simple. A fact he was reminded of as soon as the silhouettes of the buildings serving as their destination came into view and he began decreasing altitude. He wasn't about to ask Mac to give up the grip on his hand though, not when he could manage while still offering that small comfort.

It wasn't a perfect landing, bumpier than Jack would have preferred any day, but the fact that he was hauling the most precious, albeit terrified, cargo didn't help matters. He was fairly certain the tight reign Mac had on his emotions had cracked when the wheels touched back down for the first jolt and he let out a yelp but Jack would claim he didn't hear it. Flipping the switches and pulling the levers with one hand took longer than Jack would have liked, but eventually the plane was still and the motor sputtered to silence.

"Hey, pal," He said gently, turning in his seat to finally get a full glimpse of Mac's shaking form sitting beside him and ripping the headphones away from his ears and throwing them on the dash. "We're safe. Back on the ground. You're okay."

Mac didn't move.

"Alright, I'm gonna take these off," Jack warned, reaching over to gently tug the headset he had handed to Mac before their flight off, trying not to get it stuck in strands of hair, drenched in nervous sweat. Despite the warning Mac still flinched at the touch, head whipping around and eyes snapping open, flashing wild, but aware.

"Hey," Jack forced an easy smile. "There he is, you're okay," He repeated, throwing the headphones in the general direction of the dash without bothering to look to make sure they made it to their destination. "We're safe, it's over. I'm so sorry kiddo."

"Not," Mac shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the past half-hour from his memories. "Not your fault."

"Why didn't you tell me you were afraid of heights?" Jack asked. His tone wasn't quite scolding, a lecture wasn't what either of them needed at the moment, but there was one brewing once they had both caught their breath. "We didn't have to do this. You should have said something, bud."

"You were excited about it," Mac shrugged, wide eyes stared ahead, slowly tracking back and forth, searching for something to disprove his apparent safety, to convince him that this was all a cruel trick of the worst nightmare he'd had in a while (since Jack started watching his back, actually, but he wasn't ready to begin unpacking that particular box of emotional baggage just yet) and it wasn't over. "Didn't want to upset you."

Jack huffed a laugh, slumping back into his seat as the adrenaline crashed. "And how do you think I felt when we were up there and I realized what I'd gone and done, huh? That was way more upsetting than if you had just told me to begin with. I wouldn't have been mad, Mac. Not even a little."

"Really?" The admission was enough that it shocked Mac back into reality a little further. Jack actually thought he might have been seeing him instead of looking straight through him when he turned to him in surprise that time.

"Really," Jack confirmed, giving Mac's hand, which he was pretty sure Mac had forgotten about his grip on, a squeeze.

"Oh," Mac's cheeks turned red as he remembered he was still clutching on to Jack's hand and he pried his fingers away as Jack breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't ideal, having Mac feeling self-conscious about the comforting move, but it was better than the white as a ghost level of pale he had been only a few moments earlier so Jack counted it as progress. "If... if it's okay with you then, do, um, can we get out of here?"

"Sure thing," Jack agreed, already reaching for the latch on his door, heading to Mac's side as soon as he had crawled out of the cramped space, entirely focused on Mac.

"Here," He reached out, wrapping steady hands around the tops of Mac's arms as he tried to stand up and his knees buckled beneath him. "I know you're in a hurry to get back on the ground but take it slow. Don't think you've got your land legs yet."

"Pretty sure that only counts if you're coming off the water," Mac argued as he swayed, one hand reaching up to latch onto Jack's wrist and the other twisting into his plaid shirt. "Not the air."

"Bet you wish we were, don'cha?" Jack joked, attempting to lighten the moment.

Missing the teasing tone of his voice entirely, Mac only nodded.

"Okay, I can't take any more of this," Jack's eyes softened as he stepped forward and carefully wrapped Mac in a hug, one hand making soothing passes up and down his back, the other against the back of his head, nudging him into the embrace. It barely took a second for Mac to give in, burying his forehead in Jack's shoulder and sagging against him, relishing in the safety and relinquishing control of the situation. The importance of the move wasn't lost on Jack, but he pushed aside his own emotions, focusing on Mac instead. "I really am sorry, bud. If I'd known I wouldn't have ever considered takin' you up in that thing."

"Not exactly something I go around telling people," Mac admitted. His voice was muffled but he wasn't quite ready to break the hold just yet.

"But you're supposed to tell me," Jack reminded him gently. "I gotta know these things, Mac. You can't trust me to keep you safe from 'em if you don't even tell me you're freaked out."

"Never had anyone bother to try," Mac muttered, body going completely still as he realized what he had just let slip. "I'm, I'll be okay. Thanks," He released his hold on Jack and took a shaky step back. "For..."

"Don't mention it," Jack waved the acknowledgment off, knowing that while he still might be figuring out all the different layers of his partner, making a big deal about a rare show of vulnerability was surefire the quickest way for him to reinforce his walls in an attempt to make sure he never got the chance to see it again. "Anytime. And I mean that, kiddo. You need me, I'm here."

Mac nodded and Jack could practically see the wheels spinning behind his eyes as his brain went into overdrive, unsure how to process having someone promise to be there for him regardless of the situation. "Just, maybe no more flying lessons?"

"Never again," Jack assured, motioning for Mac to follow him back to the house. There was a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge and they both had earned a nice tall glass of it while being safely planted on the ground. He was already making plans to make sure one of the farmhands put the plane back under the shed before nightfall. It would be a while before he himself was ready to climb back into the pilot’s seat after the day's events.

"You're sure you don't mind?" Mac asked again as he fell into step beside Jack. "I know I'm not... I'm not saying that you think of me..." A frustrated sigh separated the words he was struggling to get out before eventually deciding to just go for it. "It seemed like you were kinda looking forward to passing down the tradition, you know? Like with you and your dad?"

Jack grinned. That had, after all, been his exact plan. "You saw through that, did ya?"

"It was pretty obvious," Mac laughed. "Before I completely freaked out there was a moment up there where I specifically remember thinking that it had to be one of the worst ways to give someone a tour of the ranch because you couldn't see anything in detail and even if you could, the spacial awareness was off from the aerial view."

"That was the idea," Jack admitted. "But hey, plans change. I should be used to that after workin' with you for a while now, right? Seriously, kid, I'm not upset. There are plenty traditions we can make on our own, you and me. And we can do a real tour, without leaving the ground, tomorrow. If you want."

"Or," Mac offered as they came upon the barn. "We could go on that trail ride?"

"Seriously?" Jack's steps faltered as he turned to Mac in surprise, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "You'd really wanna?"

Acting on a whim, one he would most certainly blame on an adrenaline crash induced haze, he jogged over to the barn and grabbed a strand of hay from the first bail he found, returning to Jack with it held proudly between his teeth. “When in Texas, right?”


End file.
